Code Name

by Sawyer Bennett

  “All work and no play makes Barrett not have a bucket list,” I croon with a chuckle.

  “I need one, though,” she says with contemplation, her smile slipping a little. “I guess if there’s one thing this little adventure has taught me it’s there’s a lot to life I’ve been missing out on.”

  I nod, throwing her a little sage advice despite the fact she hasn’t asked for any. “Don’t lead your life with regrets. Don’t wake up one day and say, ‘I wish I would have’.”

  She nods solemnly. “Yeah… if I were to die tomorrow, I think I’d have some.”

  “Like?” I prompt.

  She gives me a halfhearted shrug as she glances down at her bottle a moment, before giving me her pretty eyes. “I guess one would be not having enough fun. Not having a childhood. Not having friends. It’s been school and work and nothing else. Just this little bit of forced time away from my office has been a bit of an eye opener.”

  “I can imagine,” I say in agreement, happy she’s realizing something important about herself.

  “What about you?” she asks. I blink in surprise, not sure exactly what her question is about.

  “What about me what?”

  “Regrets,” she says, lifting her chin. “If you were to die tomorrow, would you have any major regrets?”

  “Too many to list out,” I say with a light laugh, but when I see how solemnly she’s studying me, I know she’s not asking about petty or incidental things. Coughing, I clear my throat, one thing coming to mind.

  Something I’ve never told another living soul.

  But right now, having this honest conversation with Barrett, I want to bare it to her.

  “When I shot the man who tried to kill your uncle,” I say, letting my words hang in the air.

  She nods in understanding as to who I’m talking about.

  “A part of me regrets it,” I admit.

  Face blanching, her eyebrows shoot sky high before she shakes her head in denial. “No. You were a hero. You saved Uncle Jon’s life.”

  “Yeah… get that part,” I murmur, staring out across the water. When I give her my attention again, I say, “But as time has passed and I’ve reflected on it, I think I regret taking the kill shot. Perhaps I could have shot him somewhere else. Disabled him, maybe.”

  “No,” Barrett firmly says. “No. You can’t second guess, and that’s all it is… second guessing. That’s not regret.”

  “It is,” I state, refusing to back down. “I regret not giving that guy a chance to live.”

  She takes in my words and the seriousness of my tone before she nods in acquiescence. Tilting her head, Barrett asks, “Is it awful? Feeling that?”

  I shake my head with a smile. “Not too awful. I had just a fraction of a second to react. There were no good choices. I saved a life. So, I can regret what I did in hindsight, but it’s not torturing me or anything. I don’t let it weigh me down.”

  “That’s good,” she says with a relieved smile. “Because you’re such a good man. You don’t deserve to have that bearing down on you. I know I’m eternally grateful for what you did, and I don’t have a moment’s sympathy for that man. He deserved what was done to him.”

  “Probably,” I agree. “But you asked about regret, and there you have it. And for the record, Dr. Alexander, I’ve never shared that with anyone before. In fact, Kynan specifically asked me about it when he interviewed me and I out and out lied to his face about it. So, it’s our little secret, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She grins. “Our secret. I’ll take it to the grave.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Barrett

  I love it when I’m in the middle of a good dream and the details are bright, the sensations are hyped, and I’m so deep under there’s no danger of awakening. Perhaps I’ve thought so much about how I woke up day before yesterday, with my body against Cruce’s and my hand on his stomach, that it led me to dream about the same thing.

  Maybe it was the time we’ve been spending together. We floated in salty, clear blue water, talking about life and happenstance. When he would take a moment to scan the horizon, I was sneaking glances at his perfect chest and arms. Cruce didn’t try to be surreptitious. He just stared, not being gross but also not hiding his appreciation.

  It could even have been last night, enjoying a quiet dinner on the outdoor balcony as we watched the sun set into the water. Cruce asked me about my research and the work I had left to do on my formula. He let me talk for over half an hour about it. I could tell he didn’t understand a damn thing I said, yet he was engaged and interested. While he couldn’t help me on the scientific side, he had plenty of direct encouragement to give me.

  Whatever the reason, I’m now currently dreaming of being pressed against Cruce’s body again in one of the best dreams ever, and I’m not going to let it go. He smells so good, and his skin is warm. My hand flattens, touching as much of his belly as I can, then I rub my cheek on his shoulder.

  I go still when Cruce shifts, and my heart starts beating so fast it feels like my chest might explode. But then I remember… dream.

  I can act with impunity.

  My lips curve upward in a sly smile that only I know is on my face. I slide my hand south, letting my fingers finally touch those crisp dark hairs known as a happy trail. They certainly make me happy as I follow them to the edge of the waistband of his cutoff sweats.

  I frown, sad my dream isn’t more tailor made for me. Because he should have been completely naked in my dream, so I wouldn’t have to mess with clothing.

  But whatever…

  I dip my fingers under the waistband, immediately met with warm, silky skin stretched over what feels like granite.

  I encircle his impressively sized shaft—dreams totally rock—and grip him without thought because it’s my dream and for me alone. He’s so thick my fingers can’t even wrap completely around him, and I give a hard squeeze.

  When Cruce groans loudly, my smile goes wider. I give a stroke, all the way to the tip, and rub my thumb across the wetness there before gliding back down.

  “Christ,” he mutters, and the words sound like he’s being tortured.

  I jolt and snatch my hand away, forgetting all about taking what I want in my dream.

  But then his large hand clasps onto my wrist, and he growls, “Don’t.”

  And well… that feels way too real. The way he’s squeezing, the slight pain in my bones and his words seem to be louder and excruciatingly clear to my senses. Not a foggy dream at all.

  My eyes pop open. Slowly, I tip my head up.

  That’s when I realize I’m not dreaming at all. In fact, I’m not sure I ever had been.

  Cruce’s face is harsh in the morning light. I can’t tell if he’s just irritated or angry.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, earnestly trying to pull my hand back.

  Holding tightly, he speaks through gritted teeth. “Don’t,” he says again. When he adds, “Stop,” I almost don’t believe my ears.

  Don’t. Stop.

  My eyes widen at the implication. Before I can even hazard what it all means, he’s pushing my hand back down. My breath becomes nonexistent when he releases me, only to lift his hips and push his sweats down enough to release himself.

  Once again, he grips my wrist, shoves it to his erection, and practically snarls, “Take it.”

  I don’t need provocation, orders, or begging from him. Rolling, I shift up onto my elbow and take his cock in my free hand. He groans, lets his head flop to the pillow, and squeezes his eyes shut in what I’m hoping is full surrender.

  My gaze slides down his body, which is lightly tanned from his time in the sun these last few days, and to the beauty straining against my hand. I start stroking, slowly at first, but then faster because I like drawing forth the wonderful variety of grunts and hissing sounds he makes. His hips thrust counter to my movements, his breathing ragged.

  In my entire sexual life to date, I’ve never brought a man to completion this way. I
’ve never been with someone satisfied by only that. They’ve either run out of patience and climbed on top, eager to thrust out an orgasm, or pushed my head into their lap.

  Which… either is fine. I like both, but something about Cruce letting me do this to him—the most basic of sexual gratification—seems to imply his gratefulness for what little I’m offering.

  He has no clue I’d offer him anything, but I’ll enjoy him exactly how I have him in this moment.

  On an upstroke, I squeeze a little harder than usual.

  Cruce hisses, “Fuck yes, Barrett. Just like that.”

  So, I give it to him, just like that.

  I jack him hard and fast, dragging my gaze from what I’m doing up to his face. It’s beautiful in the way it’s pinched and strained—as if he’s trying to hold off his orgasm, yet he’s desperately seeking it at the same time.

  “Come for me, Cruce,” I murmur, and he snaps his eyes to mine. “Give it to me.”

  “Fuck,” he barks as his back arches. Groaning, he starts to ejaculate all over my hand and his stomach. I stroke him through it, watching the milky white strands erupt as he moans out his release.

  And damn… I may not have come, but I feel so fucking satisfied right now.

  Cruce lets out a harsh breath as he lowers his hips to the mattress. I gently slide my hand up his still-hard length, then up so I can run my fingertips through the wetness on his stomach.

  Should I cuddle with him? Put my head on his shoulder? Can I stroke his chest without him reading too much into the intimacy?

  Should I say something? Like what? Thank you, that was awesome?

  I have no chance to ponder these questions—well, insecurities—because Cruce rolls my way so fast I let out a yip of surprise. His mouth crashes down onto mine with a possessive ferocity I didn’t think should be possible after he just had a very satisfactory moment that’s still wet between us. Yet, he seems starved to claim me.

  The kiss is so vastly different than the one we shared in his small apartment at the Jameson headquarters. That one was born of security and comfort.

  Only one word comes to mind with this one—domination.

  I roll to my back, submit, and let him take whatever he wants from my mouth. His tongue invades, laying total waste to me. Before I can even think to reciprocate, it’s gone.

  His mouth is at my breasts now. Somehow, he has my sleep shirt hiked up to my throat. His teeth and tongue work at my nipples, and my hips shoot off the bed in response. Cruce’s large hand goes to my stomach, presses me down into the mattress, then shoves his hand into my sleep shorts.

  Right into my panties.

  Finger right into my…

  “Cruce,” I call in surprise as he thrusts in deep, only to pull his finger out to drag it over my clit.

  And then… his hand is gone, and I want to cry.

  But he’s not gone. In fact, he’s shifting in the bed to kneel at my hips, dragging my shorts and panties right off me. Cool ocean breeze from our open wall hits me, and I’m barely cognizant Cruce is now shoving my legs apart, pressing his face right into me. His beard is both prickly and soft against my thighs.

  His tongue shoves in deep and hot, and I’ve never, ever experienced that before. I don’t ever want to experience anything else again. Just want to stay right here like this, which is why I grip tightly to his thick hair.

  I try to pull him harder into me, but it’s impossible as his tongue is in impossibly deep.

  But then it’s gone. I don’t even have time to cry out my frustration before his tongue lands on my clit. He works it hard.

  Fast.

  Jack hammering me with it, in between long, slow sucks.

  It’s the best feeling I’ve ever felt, which is probably why my orgasm comes out of nowhere. It shreds me head to toe and inside out until I’m not sure there’s a single molecule left that will ever be the same.

  “Oh God,” I moan, cry, rant, shriek… all at the same time.

  Cruce chuckles and groans, which shoots more pleasurable sparks through his mouth into me and I swear I come again.

  Softer this time, but it still feels so freaking good.

  He gives me one final lick. A long one… straight up my center. It makes my toes curl, then he’s moving right up my body. He drags his lips along my skin, the wetness around the edges of his mouth and beard leaving a trail that feels surprisingly dirty-good.

  Then his mouth returns to mine, and I taste a combination of us mingled together. I groan in satisfaction as I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, and our kiss is now a combination of our first time. Secure, sweet, but still possessive in a way that says this isn’t a onetime only situation.

  Cruce wants more, and I’m going to give it to him whenever he wants it.

  His mouth eventually lifts from mine. He rolls to my side, briefly burying his face in my neck for a moment. He gives a slight groan of recrimination before lifting his head.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I really thought I was dreaming. Or… maybe I even was to start out, but I didn’t mean—”

  “That chicken’s already flown the coop,” he murmurs, his eyes softening a bit.

  “No crying over spilled milk?” I inquire. Perhaps he also thinks about the white semen that was splashed all over his stomach earlier, because we start to snicker simultaneously. I move right into him, not caring if this is too cuddly or intimate, and I wrap my arm around his waist. “I’m really sorry. I crossed a line you didn’t want to.”

  “It’s fine,” he murmurs. Putting his arm around me, he gives me a return squeeze of reassurance.

  “That was more than fine,” I point out.

  “It was fucking great, and we both know it,” he mutters. “Going to get even better when I recharge.”

  Relief flushes through me, indicating I might have been assuming it really was a onetime only thing.

  Definitely making it clear I would have been devastated had he declared it so.

  “Would you like me to make us some breakfast?” I ask.

  Another chuckle from Cruce, and he squeezes me again. “Not going to take that long for me to recharge.”

  Pleasure hits me between the legs, indicating it’s not going to take me that long to recharge either.

  CHAPTER 16

  Cruce

  It’s difficult for me to occupy the time on this island. Barrett spends her days with her face pressed against her laptop or scribbling in a notebook. She’s feeling hamstrung out here in isolation, cut off from her research assistants and the other scientists in the community she can reach out to for some brain picking. Relying only on herself—her brains, her intuition, and her imagination—she’s becoming frustrated over the lack of progress she’s making.

  I’m frustrated waiting on something to happen with the situation. The team Kynan sent just made it to Oman today, and they are in the middle of active reconnaissance of the two arms dealers. That will take a few days at least. Barrett and I being able to return to a normal life will most likely hinge on what they find out.

  For now, though, everyone agrees Barrett and I should stay put for the time being.

  We’ve only been here eight days total, but it seems like a lot longer. I spend the daylight hours patrolling the perimeter while Barrett works, scanning the horizon for any hint of danger, and sometimes fishing in the small cay for our dinner.

  It’s now my sworn duty to pull her away from her work in the afternoon as I’d promised, because she needs the break so she doesn’t run herself into the ground. She’s more dedicated than ever to finishing this formula because she knows it could also be our ticket to freedom. So, I make her go down to the beach or snorkeling, just for a little while to refresh her mind.

  At night, though, I’m a selfish fuck because I make her come to bed at a decent hour. It’s not because I think she needs more of a breather, or that a fresher mind might be gained with better rest, but because of no other reason than I want to be inside of her.


  Her hand on my cock two mornings ago opened the dam, and I have a never-ending stream of need for her that can’t seem to be fully quenched. So, after we finish dinner and clean the kitchen, I do a final perimeter check of the island while she tries to squeeze in another hour of work.

  Then I return to the main house, and I actually drag her away. Sometimes, she begs me to let her finish a thought or a note. Sometimes, I even give in.

  For the most part, though, I don’t.

  I just sweep her off to wherever I want to have her to start the evening, knowing we’ll end up in the big bed in the master suite.

  She created a monster—made me submit to something I never should have let happen—and now she has to live with the beast she awakened.

  Barrett isn’t complaining, though. If anything, she always ends up begging because even though we started off this sexual relationship with a quick, hard jacking where I let her have control of me, it’s not the way we’ve rolled since.

  I like to lead.

  I like to get her frenzied and out of control, to where she’d let me do anything I want.

  Foreplay… I fucking love it. There’s not a part of her body I haven’t touched and claimed in the last two and a half days.

  The sun is starting to get heavy, dropping nearer to the horizon. I check my watch, confirming it’s getting close to the time to head up to the main house and make us dinner. I’ve taken over all the meals, not because I’m a better cook—I’m not—but mainly to give Barrett those extra precious minutes to work.

  Like I said… when night falls, she’s mine. She doesn’t belong to the future of free energy for those hours.

  I’ve already completed my last perimeter sweep. Not surprisingly, all infra-reds and trip wires are perfectly set up. The weather has been good, and no one has been on the island except Barrett and me.

  We are running low on a few things, though. I’ll need to call Samuel to see if he’ll make a quick supply run out to us. I’ll meet him on the docks as I don’t want to run the risk of him seeing any of the cameras or wire strung strategically in areas that look most approachable up to the main house.